


Quid Pro Quo

by StellaLuna365



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: BAU is a precious family, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Ian Doyle sucks and is a possessive asshole, Kidnapped Spencer Reid, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Drug Addiction, Protective Emily Prentiss, Protective Everyone, Protective Spencer Reid, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Violence and some Gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaLuna365/pseuds/StellaLuna365
Summary: Despite Ian Doyle's statement, he knows that Emily's life isn't her most valuable possession.Emily does, too.Reid knows that Emily's on edge, but the problem may be more than he and the BAU can handle. It becomes clear, though, when Doyle takes someone else, instead. Can Emily and the BAU save Reid before it's too late?Reid-centric. Kidnapped Reid, BAU fam feels!
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Emily Prentiss, Emily Prentiss & Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss & Everyone, Emily Prentiss & Spencer Reid, Everyone & Everyone, Penelope Garcia & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid & David Rossi, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Everyone, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Comments: 55
Kudos: 264





	1. Status Quo

_ Status Quo _

_ Meaning “the situation; current conditions” _

**Warning: Spoilers for everything up to Season 6 Episode 18, “Lauren”.**

**T rating is for canon-typical violence, some extra language, and mentions of sexual assault pertaining to their case victims.**

Reid would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about Emily.

He’d be the first to admit that they’d gotten off on the wrong foot—mostly because of his Dilaudid withdrawal symptoms and his missing Elle—but since then, even he had to admit Emily had grown on him. He knew that the BAU wasn’t a family in the traditional sense, but they were close enough—and Emily was very good at playing the teasing big sister.

Reid knew he was somewhat incapable of picking up most social cues, but he didn’t have to be a profiler to know that something was off. She’d been taking a lot more phone calls than usual, and she took extra care to make sure no one could overhear her. She’d also turned down _Solaris_. Now, even though it sounded amazing to him, he was cognizant enough to know that five hours in a dark theater watching an original version of the film wasn’t everyone’s idea of a good time, but even Emily had suggested that they hang out soon, and he’d thought it was the perfect opportunity.

He hadn’t noticed at the time, but beneath Emily’s characteristic tone, there had been an underlying sense of caution that she didn’t usually display—at least, not with him. That was when he’d really started paying attention.

“It’s probably a family thing,” Morgan had reassured him, patting him on the shoulder as he dumped sugar into his morning coffee. “Besides, man, if she isn’t telling us about it, she probably doesn’t want us to know.”

Reid had been inclined to agree, but he also knew from personal experience that keeping something from the others didn’t always pan out well. Problem was, he didn’t know how to approach her about it, so he did the only thing he could—he watched.

He’d always been good at watching—he had to be. Growing up, watching had been the only thing besides reading that gave him comfort. He couldn’t interact, but he could watch.

While he watched Emily, he didn’t like what he saw. When she thought no one was watching, especially, she was constantly on edge, looking over her shoulder and around corners. She jumped at shadows in ways only Emily could, with the slightest twitch of her eyes or the tensing of her shoulders. No, it didn’t take a profiler to know that something was wrong with the unusually tough-as-nails agent. Of course, he knew next to nothing about females or their problems, so he called the only person he could think of to give him some clues.

“She might just be going through something personal,” JJ soothed over the phone, Henry’s laughter in the background. Will’s Southern drawl was staticky in the background, but Reid forced himself to focus on JJ’s words. “Who knows, she might have a boyfriend or something.”

“She wasn’t seeing anyone the last time I heard her talk about it,” Reid said, adjusting his sunglasses as he sat in the park near his apartment building. Morgan had teased him about needing some more Vitamin D because he, quote, _looked like a sheet of paper sometimes_. “I dunno, JJ. Maybe you’re right. I’m just a little worried.”

JJ laughed, and Reid felt a pang in his chest. He missed having her around all the time. “That’s because you’re a sweetheart, Spence. Just ask her about it if you’re that worried. She’ll think it’s nice, and if there really is something wrong, maybe you can help her.”

“Okay, but I don’t exactly have the best track record with talks like that,” he defended, fidgeting on the park bench. He smiled awkwardly at an older man feeding the birds, who gave him a friendly smile. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m reading into it. I just…you know, want her to be okay.”

“Would you like me to ask her?” JJ asked, sounding a little more concerned at Reid’s insistence. “You know, have a girl talk?”

Even Reid knew that the phrase shouldn’t make him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t help shifting despite it. “No, it’s okay. If I…if I get a chance I’ll ask her about it. Thanks anyways. Tell Will I said hi and Henry I love him.”

“Will do, handsome,” JJ said with a knowing smirk. “Call me if you find anything out, or if I can help. Take care.”

“You too.” Reid hung up and massaged his temple, feeling one of his headaches begin to flare up. So much for Vitamin D. He’d lay down, try to get some sleep; maybe that would help before it got too bad.

Maybe he’d ask Penelope if she’d noticed anything off. He knew he was probably overreacting, and that Emily probably wouldn’t want him in her business anyways, but…he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on with her.

Walking back towards his apartment building, he was startled out of his thoughts when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He initially thought it was JJ calling him back or something, but Hotch’s name was displayed, calling him in for a case.

He sighed. He’d swing by his apartment and grab some Tylenol, maybe that would help. The doctor had given him some low-strength narcotic painkillers for such occasions, but he’d been clean for so long now…he couldn’t risk it.

Threading a hand through his dark hair, he continued down the street, keeping two fingers at his temple to try to alleviate the ache.

He didn’t see the shadowed figure trailing him.

…

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Reid said hurriedly, rushing into the briefing room and sitting quickly next to Morgan.

“It’s fine, but don’t start making a habit of it,” Hotch said pointedly, leaning back in his seat. “We’re waiting for Garcia and Prentiss, anyways.”

“And the goddess of wisdom is right here,” Garcia supplied quickly, clomping into the room in bright heels that Reid couldn’t fathom any woman wearing. She started quickly handing out tablets, slipping Reid a paper copy. “Sorry about the delay, doves, I had a thing with a hard drive.”

“Oh, should I be jealous?” Morgan asked, prompting a smirk from Reid as he opened his file to scan the contents.

“Only in your dreams, _cher_ ,” she replied, bopping him on the head with a furry pen before advancing to the front of the room. “Should we wait for—”

“Here,” Emily huffed, all but running into the room with her purse slung over her shoulder. Reid looked up quickly, looking for anything to indicate that he was on the right track, but she looked like her usual self. Maybe a little flustered, but…okay. “Here, sorry. I had—”

“A thing with a hard drive?” Rossi asked, prompting a laugh from Morgan.

Emily slowed, eyebrows drawing in confusion as she set her purse down. “N…no, Sergio—”

“It’s fine, can we please get started?” Hotch said, rubbing his forehead. “Garcia?”

“Right,” she said quickly, the bubbly techie clicking the remote and quickly turning away as the screen filled with images of strangled women. Reid rubbed his temple, squinting at the screen. Maybe he should consider starting that prescription. “So, we’ve got good news and bad news. The bad news is that we’ve got three women from Oak Ridge, Tennessee who were raped and then strangled, and dumped in a junkyard, a lake, and an alley, respectively.”

Garcia paused, making doubly sure that she’d clicked the screen to the smiling headshots of the victims before turning to look. “Good news, they have a suspect in custody and enough probable cause to hold him indefinitely, so they’re not asking us to fly in, just to give a profile based on what we know so they know where to look for evidence. No missing victims that they know of.”

“Well, that’s a pleasant surprise,” Rossi said, swiping on his tablet. “Unsub’s one Jason Hargrove.”

“Yes, I have the skinny on skeezy Mr. Hargrove, and I would not want him anywhere near me,” Garcia provided. Reid rubbed his temple harder, glancing at Emily as subtly as he could. She looked fine, focused on the case…maybe he was overreacting. Or worse, hallucinating. “Your detailed files contain all of his juicy exploits, for better or worse, and I would totally peg this guy as a sleazebag. And if that’s all, I will leave you to discuss. Call me if you need me.”

“Okay, so what do we make of this guy?” Rossi ventured, looking at the BAU members around the table. Morgan got up and meandered to the coffee pot, listening intently.

“Well…there isn’t a lot of physical evidence, so he must be somewhat organized,” Reid said quickly, hoping if he could contribute early they wouldn’t bother him for the rest of the meeting. His head was killing him. Maybe it was caffeine withdrawal. “No DNA under the fingernails, but signs that they were awake while they were strangled. The sexual assault indicates someone who feels inadequate, maybe, and the age suggests he may be in his thirties or forties…they’re all brunette, so we might be looking at someone taking out his frustrations on someone who looks like an old girlfriend, or wife.”

Reid didn’t notice the silence until he looked up, meeting a few questioning glances. “Well, do you want to give a couple of us a chance to pitch in?” Emily suggested with a good-natured smirk.

“Uh…right. Sorry.” Reid said with an awkward smile, leaning back. Good, maybe they’d let him relax while they sorted the rest out.

Reid listened with half an ear as the team completed the profile, throwing in facts and statistics as he was called on. He mostly just rubbed his head, thinking he should’ve gotten something stronger than Tylenol. He was almost surprised forty minutes later when Hotch dismissed them, volunteering Morgan to call the ORPD with the profile. “The rest of you, enjoy the rest of your weekend,” he said with a nod, collecting his things.

Reid figured this was as good a chance as any to talk to Emily, though the prospect was somewhat daunting. He’d never been good at talking. Well, he was quite good at rambling—about everything he knew—but it was mostly to compensate for the fact that he wasn’t great at holding genuine conversations. Of course, he’d do his best. Maybe Emily would take pity on him and help him out.

“Uh…Prentiss? Um, Emily?” He asked, clutching the strap of his messenger bag nervously as she turned to face him, shrugging on her blazer.

“What’s up?”

Reid waited a second until everyone else had cleared the room, Hotch nodding to him as he left, and struggled to find words. “Uh…sorry, I know that you probably have plans, but…do you want to grab coffee somewhere? I kind of…have something to talk to you about.”

Even as he started speaking, Emily looked down and shook her head quickly, giving him a quick smile. “I’m sorry, Reid, I’ve actually got a thing—”

“It’s important,” he said quickly, following her down the catwalk. He didn’t want to be pushy, as he knew he could absolutely be sometimes. However, despite the team’s incessant jokes that he was more computer than human, he wasn’t one to ignore gut feelings anymore than he could, and…this was a strong feeling. “Please? I’ll buy.”

Reid felt inexplicably dishonest with his words, as he was more insinuating there was something wrong with _him_. He wasn’t going to correct himself, though. His head pounded, and he hoped Emily would say yes.

Emily looked like she was debating telling him no again, but finally, she shrugged, smiling slightly. “Uh…sure. Why not? I only have a couple hours, though.”

Reid was surprised she agreed, so it took him a second to respond. “Uh…awesome! Great! There’s this little place by my apartment building if you want? Or we could go somewhere by your place. Actually, I think it’s 16.3 miles between us, and if I’m not mistaken there’s a Starbucks about 8.2 miles between us, so if you want—”

“Your pick, Reid,” she said with an indulgent pat on his shoulder, smiling at his characteristic rambling. “How’s your weekend been?”

Reid launched into a vague description of a book series he’d read and a lengthy biography of the author and his accomplishments, which filled up a good portion of their travel time. That was good—Reid didn’t want to let the conversation stray to him. He wanted to give Emily some time to talk, if that was what she wanted. Unfortunately, he wasn’t very good at reciprocating, so all he could do was give a detailed account of Joao Rosa’s fantastic books in a pathetic attempt to hide his nervousness.

Emily listened patiently for the most part, but even in his rambling zone, he watched her body language on the subway and walking down the street as much as he could without overtly staring. She was obviously not all there—he knew that for no other reason than she hadn’t asked him to shut up yet—but she was on edge. She kept glancing over her shoulder and around the street, mumbling half-hearted acknowledgements every so often.

“—and he actually participated in a number of different professions, including authorship, medicine, diplomacy—”

“Reid, is this it?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, stopping in front of the small coffee shop a couple blocks from Reid’s apartment. For convenience, Reid had thought about choosing the one by Emily’s house, but he also knew that Emily had been meaning to try a new scone or something. She’d mentioned that, despite her inability to cook, she tried to make some blueberry scones that had nearly cost her the security deposit on her apartment.

The café by Reid’s apartment had some blueberry scones that he’d wanted her to try, and he figured it was the perfect way to get her to relax enough to open up.

Reid was…quite out of his element, but he was comfortable enough around Emily. He took her coffee order and pointed her to a table by the window, ordering her favorite two-pump coffee and two scones, plus a coffee for himself.

He returned a few minutes later to find Emily staring pensively at her phone, which she hurriedly put away when he sat down. “So, Reid…everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” Reid said, handing her the coffee and one of the scones. “Here, uh, you mentioned…the scones—”

Emily laughed before he could finish, looking properly chagrinned. “Yeah, the—the scones. That was…not my finest moment.”

Reid laughed quietly, wondering how he should broach the conversation. “Yeah, um…I knew they didn’t turn out like you hoped, so…yeah.”

Emily gave him a look, sipping her coffee. “You’re in a weird mood. Did something happen?” Reid didn’t miss the controlled glance she sent out the window at the passing street.

“Um…no. Not…not with me, anyways.” Reid felt his fingers tapping quickly against his leg, nervous without knowing why. “Um…are you okay?”

Emily tilted her head, swallowing her bite of scone. “What do you mean?”

“Well, uh…I’m not…good at this?” Reid said quietly, avoiding Emily’s eyes. He glanced out the window, following her eyeline, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “You know. Conversations like this. My, my mother often said that it was because my social skills were made for a chessboard and not for a club, but, you know, it, uh, seems to extend to the rest of society as well. And I guess that all goes to say, uh—”

“Reid,” Emily interrupted, looking concerned now. That wasn’t how he wanted this to go—he was trying to keep the focus on her. “Slow down. I’m listening.”

Reid did. He took a deep breath and began again, fingering his coffee and forcing himself to look at his friend. “I just…I’m worried? About you.” Before Emily could cut him off, he continued, rambling at a mile a minute. “You’ve been distant lately, and I know we have a no-profiling rule, but I couldn’t really help but notice that you keep looking over your shoulder and taking weird phone calls that you don’t want anyone to hear, which is fine, but you’re also showing up late to work and disappearing from time to time, and that’s, you know, not like you? And I know I…you know, might be overstepping or something so you can absolutely tell me to shut up and I’ll shut up, but…I’m worried about you.”

Emily’s face had stayed carefully blank during his rant, but towards the end, he knew he saw a flicker of fear. Hesitation. It was such an uncharacteristic emotion on Emily’s face that he didn’t really know what to make of it. She was always so self-assured and assertive.

He didn’t like the thick feeling of the silence, so he continued on, despite his discomfort. “You don’t—I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, you know, we all have secrets and that’s fine, but…but this seems like…you know. Something big. And I just wanted you to know that…you know, I’m not exactly the best option, but I’m…here. If you want to talk. I can listen, you know, not just…not just rant for hours. And you know the whole team is behind you, if you need help. You just…have to let us know.”

He glanced away quickly and the end of his confession, feeling quite uncomfortable. He knew that he hid his emotions behind his intelligence, and letting those walls down even this much was difficult. But if it helped Emily, he supposed he could deal with it.

Emily was looking out the window, fiddling with her watch absently. She was nodding, her eyes scanning every available point in space beyond the window, like she was looking for something. Someone.

“You know…I thought I could do it,” she said quietly, thoughtfully. Reid quickly shut his mouth, knowing that if he spoke now, he’d ruin it. “I thought I could…leave everything behind. Become a new person. But…something’s caught up to me.”

Reid listened, taking a sip of coffee. He wanted to ask what it was, and what he could do, and what the team could do…but despite his atrocious socialization skills, he knew this wasn’t the time…so he remained silent.

“It’s big, Spencer,” she admitted, tapping her fingers on the table, smiling sadly. “It’s pretty big. And very bad.” She breathed slowly, looking around the coffee shop intently before continuing. “Reid…if I tell you, you know, there’s…no going back. And I’m inclined to tell you to back off, but…” She shrugged, smiling ruefully as he looked at her intently, hoping he could do something to help his friend. “I know you’re a stubborn one.”

He laughed quietly, looking down. This was good. Maybe she’d trust him a little. “I don’t mind. If there’s no going back, you know. And the others won’t, either.”

Emily nodded, laughing under her breath. “It’s big, Reid.”

Reid nodded. “The BAU is bigger. And badder.” He paused, hating the incorrect grammar the phrase entailed. “Worse. Whatever.”

Emily smirked, shaking her head. “You never change.” She sighed, looking away again. “Alright, Reid. Okay. If I tell you…it’s putting you in danger, you know. This person…has already threatened you. All of you.”

“Then he doesn’t know us very well,” he immediately responded, hoping the confident response would settle her nerves.

Thankfully, it seemed to do the trick. Emily leaned forward, folding her hands on the table, and began.


	2. Verbatim

_Verbatim_

_Meaning, “Word for word, repeat exactly”_

Despite her best efforts, Emily knew she couldn’t keep her secrets forever, but she really thought the first person to figure her out would be Hotch, or Rossi, or _maybe_ Morgan…not Spencer Reid.

It wasn’t that she thought he couldn’t see through her—she knew she hadn’t been doing a great job of keeping herself neutral. Doyle was getting to her, and there was no doubt about that. Her nails were raw from her nervous biting, and she’d been jumpy.

But Reid wasn’t one to initiate a confrontation like this unless he thought something was really wrong. Which it was, but…she’d thought she’d been hiding it better than that.

She weighed her options carefully when he finished speaking, wondering what would be the best thing to do. Telling him she was fine was out of the question now. He knew something was up.

The question was how much she could stand to reveal without putting them in even more danger.

She wanted to say that telling him everything was out of the question, but the truth was…her options alone were looking bleak. Tsia was already dead, and she knew it probably wasn’t long before Easter followed, no matter how the thought twisted her gut in sorrow. She didn’t know if she could risk the BAU like that. She didn’t know how she could do that to them after they’d given her home and family and love.

But she also knew she couldn’t do this alone. Ian Doyle had a team of his own, and…no matter how good she was, she couldn’t fight that alone. If worse came to worse, she’d beg and steal and barter and whatever she needed to do to keep them safe, but until then, she’d do her damndest to make sure Doyle didn’t get within a mile of them.

Plus…if they knew, they could be hypervigilant. They’d know what to watch for, and who to be on guard for.

So she took a deep breath, and made sure Reid understood exactly what he was agreeing to…and she told him.

Truthfully, she told him a lot more than she wanted to, or planned to. She’d meant to keep it vague—she was undercover as a weapons dealer investigating him, and she’d betrayed him, and he was after her now. Simple, clean, efficient.

She’d underestimated just how much this was tearing her up, and somehow…she told him everything. About their relationship, the things she’d had to do with him, how at one point she might have even felt _genuine_ love for him, and…even about Declan. Something she swore no one else would ever know slipped her lips in a little café just because her friend had asked.

The thing was…she didn’t think she’d ever heard Reid stay silent for this long. He was always ranting and rambling about this and that, but he was clearly more worried than he let on, and he was listening carefully. That was what made her think it would…be okay to let some of it out.

Somehow, the shame of knowing she’d failed as an operative was drowned out by the relief she felt when she finally had someone else to share the burden with.

It felt like…like knocking down her walls and finally letting in the sun.

…

Reid didn’t know it was this big and this bad.

Of course, he didn’t regret the decision in the slightest, but…Emily had a past that nobody ever knew about, and it seemed almost implausible that it could be summed up in just a half an hour in a coffee shop. An entire woman’s past relegated to a simple chunk of Emily’s life. Lauren Reynolds.

“Wow,” he said quietly when Emil finally finished, an IQ of 187 doing absolutely nothing to help him process that amount of information Emily had just disclosed. “Um…wow.”

Emily huffed a small laugh, nodding. “Yeah. Wow.”

Reid folded his hands on the table, his chilled coffee a lot less appealing. “Um…well, first of all…thanks. I know, uh, you didn’t have to tell me all that.”

“Careful, Reid, you sound like a shrink,” she said quietly, smiling lightly. Her eyes, though, were sad and skittish, checking as much area of the café as she could cover in just a glance.

Reid took a deep breath, carefully cataloguing all the information she’d given him for future reference. Ian Doyle—the name was unassuming, but Emily’s words gave it a power that inevitably made him nervous for Emily and her associates, and the rest of the team.

He filed the information into different categories—personal information, business transactions, locations and dates, and anything and everything related to Emily. It would be easier to recall in the future that way.

Now that that was done, he took another breath, letting it out slowly. Ignoring his germophobic tendencies, he reached over the table and past the scones and took her hand, squeezing tight. She’d been biting her nails.

She looked up, her normally confident eyes quietly afraid. Nothing showed on her face, or even in her body language besides a bit of tension in her shoulders, but…he knew her. He knew that look.

It was the look just before Morgan and he stumbled out of the burning remains of the Liberty Church Chapel in La Planta, when she thought they’d been blown to pieces. It was the look she’d had on the phone the other day, when she’d decisively said, “Lauren Reynolds is dead.”

It was the look she had now.

“I…I’m sorry,” Reid said quietly, wondering how he should continue. He decided to just…say what he felt. It worked for Garcia, so…he figured he should try it. “I’m sorry that you had to go through all that by yourself, and that you felt like you couldn’t tell us.”

Emily opened her mouth to deny it, looking pained, but Reid kept going, effectively steamrolling any apology she could muster. “But that’s all over now, because I know. And if you want, I’ll help you tell everyone else. Statistically the object of someone’s obsession is much safer with a support system, you know that. And the BAU is the best of the best in terms of tracking down the bad guys. So…we’re here for you. All the way, Emily. And I promise it’s gonna be okay.”

Emily takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, but Reid can see the fear she’s so carefully hiding behind a mask of confidence. “Thank you, Reid. I…that means a lot.”

Reid smiles, squeezing her hand and letting go. “Of course. So…how do you want to do this? Am I staying with you, or do you want to stay at my place?”

Emily laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Dr. Reid, did you just invite yourself into a girl’s apartment?”

Reid blushed, but kept going, unwilling to let Emily talk him out of this. Morgan invited himself over to people’s apartments all the time when they needed help, so why shouldn’t he? “Emily, if you think I’m leaving you alone for even a second before we tell Hotch and the others, I think I need to reeducate you on the depth of my intelligence.”

Emily laughed, and Reid smiled, glad. She looked a little better. Still fidgety, still glancing around all the time, but…a little less afraid. “No, I think I get that every time we get a new case. I’m getting a to-go order of these scones on your tab, though. You can’t come over to someone’s house without a gift.”

Reid cocked his head in confusion, but figured it was a battle he wouldn’t win. “Fine. Don’t leave the café, I’m going to grab some things from my apartment. We can stay at your place.”

Emily smiled and nodded. Reid hefted his messenger bag over his shoulder and grabbed their coffee cups to return them, but Emily grabbed his wrist. He glanced at her, a question on his lips, but she just smiled. “Thanks, Reid.”

“Any time,” he responded, hoping she knew that he meant that. 

He had a go-bag packed and ready, so he wasted no time in grabbing it and locking up. His heart hammered even the ten minutes he was away from Emily, but she was waiting outside the café with a paper bag, just like she said she’d be. He allowed himself to calm down when she was back in his sights.

“So tell me more about the case,” Reid requested as they boarded a bus bound for the nearest subway station. They took unoccupied seats near the back, out of earshot of the other riders, and Reid kept a careful eye on the influx of passengers, scanning them for threats. “How would he get to you?”

Emily tapped her fingers nervously on her leg, seemingly unaware she was even doing so. “He’s already gotten to me. I let him follow me to a park the other night.” It was only the knowledge that Emily was currently beside him and unhurt that tamp down his panic at the statement.

“He knows my habits and probably my schedule; he’s very good at tracking people without letting them know. But…I don’t know, Reid. I’m trying to be careful, but it feels kind of like I’m uprooting my whole life.”

“It’ll blow over,” Reid said, then regretted his words at the fatalistic smile on Emily’s face. “It, uh…well, maybe it won’t blow over, of course, but the BAU has a success rate of ninety-three point four-six-six percent in terms of incarcerating or otherwise incapacitating the perpetrators of our cases, so I’m somewhat confident we can put him and his team away for good, especially since it’ll be for you. We always work harder on our own cases.”

He thought back to his time in the hands of Tobias Hankel, and how his team had stayed awake nearly two days straight to figure out his location. They ran themselves ragged when someone on the team was directly threatened.

Emily nodded slightly, smiling. “Yeah, that’s true.” Inhaling slowly, she looked out the window, her breath fogging the glass. “I just…I can’t let you guys get too far into this, Reid. He’ll go after you the second he knows I’ve told you, and…JJ has Will and Henry, and Hotch has Jack, and…you know, you all have families. Doyle won’t hesitate to use them.”

Reid considered, running the possibilities through his head as quickly as he could. “We’ll rotate surveillance. We’ll let Henry and Jack have sleepovers or something, so no one of us is ever alone, if we can. And we’re definitely not leaving you alone. Besides, Morgan’s probably going to move into your apartment until this is all over, and Garcia will be right behind him. I might, too.”

Emily laughed, relaxing the slightest bit. “Morgan will definitely have some things to say about all this.” She tensed up again, trying not to let it show. “He’s gonna be pissed.”

“Why? It’s not your fault,” Reid questioned, confused. “You were doing your job.”

She shrugged, looking away again. “Well, I—Doyle and I were—you know. Almost married. It takes a lot to get that close to someone, and I wish I could say it was all fake, but…I _hate_ him, Reid, don’t get me wrong. I hate him for doing this to me. But I think I might have loved him once upon a time. I don’t think I could have stayed undercover if I hadn’t.”

“And you think…Morgan’s going to be mad at you for loving him?” Reid clarified, the particulars of the situation falling into place. “Emily, that’s crazy. He’ll know you were just trying to put him away.”

Emily smiled again. “I hope so. Morgan’s a time bomb when he’s upset.”

Reid laughed, recalling some instances he’d been in Emily’s position. “Yeah, he is. But he’s also the most loyal person I’ve ever met, not to mention one of the bravest. Don’t tell him I said that.”

She laughed, and this time, it was actually genuine. “No promises.” She shifted, looking pensive. “I don’t know how to tell the team, though. You asked, you know? It was easy to just…let it all spill out.”

“Just tell them what you told me,” he responded, looking like it was the most obvious solution in the world. “It made sense to me.”

“Yeah, but I’ll never remember everything I said.”

“I’ll transcribe it for you,” he offered, wondering why she laughed. “I wasn’t joking. I can transcribe it verbatim. You can just read it like a speech.”

“Oh, I have all the faith in the world that you could,” she laughed, glancing at him. “Unfortunately, I think the situation might call for a little more tact.”

He paused. “I…don’t see the problem.”

“And that’s what I love about you,” she conceded. Reid sighed, figuring it was yet another battle he wouldn’t win.

They continued on in companionable silence for the duration of the bus ride, giving Reid a chance to think. This was easily one of the most dangerous cases the team would ever handle, simply because of the immense ramifications of failure.

If they let Doyle escape—or worse, if they let him get to Emily…they’d be looking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives, and none of them would recover from her loss. He knew that like he knew his own name. He didn’t want to go through that, and he didn’t want anyone else to, either. He didn’t want to lose Emily.

This would be one hell of a case, and failure wasn’t an option.

Reid smiled, nudging her with his elbow as they stood to transfer to the subway. “Everything’s gonna be fine, Emily.”

She smiled, patting his shoulder. “If you say so, Doctor.”

Unfortunately, neither of them noticed the figure waiting in the shadows once they exited the bus and descended to the subway stop underground, following just far enough away to avoid even Emily’s detection.

He was still trailing them when they reached Emily’s apartment, waiting in the shadows across the street.

Doyle wasn’t the most patient of people, but he knew when to play the long game. If it promised retribution on the woman who’d ruined him—Lauren Reynolds, Emily Prentiss, whoever she was—he’d play the game until his dying breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!! Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Ex Animo

_ Ex Animo _

_ Meaning, “From the heart; sincerely” _

“This is going to be a disaster,” Emily said nervously, bringing a hand to her mouth.

“Quit biting your nails,” Reid admonished absently from his desk, speed-reading through VICAP’s limited knowledge of Ian Doyle and his movements. Most everything was redacted, but he was scanning some of his known associates’ files as well, and it was enough to paint a gruesome picture. “They’ll understand, Emily. They’ll tell you the same things I told you.”

Emily was seated at her desk in the bullpen across from Reid, trying to hide her nervousness, leafing through some files without actually looking at anything. She’d asked the rest of the team to meet in the conference room half an hour before they were supposed to come in.

Emily had elected to arrive early, hoping that a change in her routine would throw any tails off, at least a little bit. Reid obliged, demanding coffee as compensation for his lost sleep.

Now all they had to do was wait for everyone else to show up.

Derek was the first to arrive, sliding into his own desk with a questioning look and a large mug of coffee. “So…what’s the deal, Prentiss?”

Emily shrugged, going for a disarming smile. If Reid didn’t already know that something was wrong, he might have been fooled. “Don’t think you’re getting special treatment. You have to wait until everyone else is here.”

Morgan laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Okay, I’ll play. Is it…an announcement? A case? Gimme a hint.” Morgan raised an eyebrow, teasing smirk in place. “Are you…engaged? Do you have a secret boyfriend?”

Reid watched out of the corner of his eye, still reading quickly. Social cues may have been his kryptonite, but even he knew that was probably the last thing Emily wanted to hear.

Emily, though, was tougher than Reid gave her credit for. Well, he knew she was one of the toughest people he knew, but…he thought this would be getting to her a little more. “Maybe,” she threw back, abandoning her menial tasks and fully engaging Morgan in conversation.

Garcia came in next, passing out affirmations and cupcakes, which Reid readily accepted. Though Reid often reduced pastries to nothing more than a chemical reaction between several unrelated compounds, Garcia’s cupcakes fully surpassed his expectations of chemical products.

Hotch came in next, retreating to his office to finish some paperwork before they gathered, Rossi close behind him. Rossi lingered in the bullpen for a few minutes, exchanging pleasantries, and then went to go help Hotch.

Reid sent Emily a questioning look, and she finally got the hint, asking everyone to gather in the conference room.

Reid bumped her shoulder on the way up, going for what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Want me to help?”

Emily patted his arm, smiling. “No, but thanks, Reid. I don’t know how I can…you know, let you know how much I appreciate you helping me do this.”

“Yeah, of course,” Reid assured, snagging another round of coffee from the machine before taking his seat beside Morgan. He’d been up long after Emily fell asleep, a combination of his worry for what this would bring and Sergio’s hair, which prompted a glorious sneezing fit, rendering sleep a pointless endeavor.

Everyone took their seats, except Emily. She stood at the head of the room, hands folded in front of her. Her nailbeds were red, evidence of her biting, and her face was paler than usual.

“Prentiss?” Hotch asked carefully when Emily didn’t speak right away, characteristic mask in place. “Why did you want us to meet?”

Emily took a breath, like he’d startled her, and quickly recovered. She stood up straight, then looked at Reid, who nodded slightly, smiling as much as he could with everything on his mind.

“Right,” Emily said, taking another breath. “First of all…thanks for being willing to come in early. I have…”

She paused, taking another breath, steeling herself. Reid saw the transformation from their Emily to the trained undercover agent she once was, and he’d be lying if he said the complete shift wasn’t a little disconcerting.

“I have a problem, and I need help,” she said, emotion drained from her words, leaving just the facts. Reid thought it was completely different from her confession to him two days ago. “First of all, this is all very sensitive, confidential information, and it can’t leave this room.” She paused to let that sink in a bit, then continued, looking at the table instead of meeting their eyes. 

“A few years ago, I was tasked with going undercover as a woman named Lauren Reynolds. I was sent to investigate Ian Doyle, one of the most prolific weapons dealers in Europe. I was sent to get close to him, and…to arrange his arrest.”

She took a deep breath, continuing, and Reid could feel the palpable tension in the room. “It was…well, I was tasked with getting close to him, and I did just that. We were engaged.” She paused, steeling herself before continuing, and Reid took the chance to glance around the room. 

Hotch, as usual, was giving nothing away, just watching Emily closely as the paced the front of the room. Rossi was more open, eyebrows drawn together in obvious concern, and Penelope looked like her cupcakes were going to make a reappearance. 

Morgan was…well. Reid knew Morgan well enough to know he was going to blow his top at some point, mostly out of worry and anger towards the unsubs, but he was afraid Emily might misconstrue his reaction. 

“To preserve the mission, I did a lot of things I wasn’t proud of. I’m still not. But I accomplished the mission. We put Doyle away, and…I got on with my life.”

Pausing again, she glanced out over the bullpen pensively, not an ounce of emotion on her face. Reid was absently impressed by her uncanny ability to control all of her micro-expressions so well. “Unfortunately, he’s escaped, and I’m at the top of his list.”

She finally turned back to the team, still standing ramrod straight. “Before I continue, I need you to know he’s threatened you. All of you. If I tell you any more, he’s going to come after you. So…” She took a deep breath. “You can leave, if you’d like to. You can pretend I never said a word, and I won’t hold it against you. He’s a very dangerous, driven man, and he has a team. I don’t want to put you in danger.”

Emily paused, and Reid glanced around again. He was sure no one was going to leave, but he was looking to make sure. He found himself smiling when no one even twitched, not even Garcia. 

Emily’s shoulders seemed to slump the slightest bit, and she smiled a little to the ground, looking relieved. “I just…well…I can’t do this alone, like I thought I could. The…the most recent victim in the case we’re working on, Tsia…” Emily took a deep breath, and Reid looked down in sympathy. “She was a very good friend of mine. This case…Doyle and his team are our unsubs. He’s killing all these people with a very well-trained team to draw me out, and…I can’t go after him alone like I thought I could.”

She paused again, looking up. Emily took the time to look at each of them, settling on Reid last. He gave her his characteristic smile, but he hoped she knew it was meant to be supportive. He had trouble expressing his emotions on his face most of the time. 

It seemed to work, because she smiled back, before steeling herself again. “Would you help me end this…so I can move on? Please?”

Pregnant silence flooded the room as the other members of their team absorbed the information, Emily waiting as they turned the new details over in their minds.

Hotch, of course, was first to speak. “We’re all here for you, you know that,” he said with his normal uncompromising tone, allowing Emily to relax the slightest bit. “Whatever you need.”

“Don’t think for a second you’re getting rid of us that easily,” Rossi added, smiling as he leaned back in his chair. 

“Absolutely, honey, _seriously_ ,” Garcia said, jumping up and wrapping Emily in a hug before she could escape. Emily, startled, returned it nonetheless, looking much more at ease. “Geez, I work with superheroes with hero complexes the size of Neptune,” she complained, wiping under her eyes as she pulled back. “And to think I gave you a cupcake. Asking for help should’ve been the first thing you did.”

Emily laughed, patting Garcia’s arm reassuringly. “I know, and…I’m really sorry.”

“Prentiss, you…you gotta know there’s no way any of us would’ve just left you out to dry,” Morgan spoke up, still looking a little unsettled. Reid glanced at him, hoping he would be able to restrain his emotions until after the case was closed, but he needn’t have worried. He looked pained more than angry. “Seriously, Garcia’s right. Why didn’t you come to us right away?”

Emily paused, looking down, and Garcia took her arm, one of her many gestures of support. “I just…I couldn’t risk it, really,” she admitted. “I’ve seen Doyle deliver on too many promises, and the other day, he threatened each of you by name. He knew your whereabouts, who you were with, what you were doing…he’s good. He’s already taken three of my friends, and I couldn’t risk him taking any more.”

Morgan nodded, finally overcoming his emotions and giving Emily a hug. Reid smiled. That was the Morgan he knew.

“We got you, Prentiss,” he said carefully. Emily closed her eyes, finally allowing herself to completely relax. “Always.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, returning the hug before pulling back, smiling gain. Reid thought she looked much more like their Emily now.

“What made you change your mind about telling us?” Rossi asked, inevitable curiosity slipping into the benign question.

Reid took that as his cue to join the standing circle of profilers, sipping from his coffee as Emily glanced at him and laughed lightly. “Well…Reid wasn’t going to leave me alone until I told him something. Cornered me in a café and threatened me with free coffee and scones until I had no choice but to talk.”

Reid glanced down into his mug when everyone turned to look at him, uncomfortable with the attention. “JJ made me do it,” he lied.

Emily laughed again, patting his shoulder, and Reid was relieved to see his friend looking so much better. This had really been weighing on her. “Nice try, Reid.”

He smiled in resignation, shrugging. Hotch took the lead, then, patting Emily on the shoulder and thanking her for coming forward, then left to pass off their next case to another unit so they could focus on this one.

Rossi went to inform Strauss in the change of plans, and Garcia dragged Emily back to her cave for a “girl talk,” which Reid was just fine with being excluded from. He was surprised and disappointed when he tipped his coffee mug back to find it empty.

“Reid,” Morgan said before he could escape to the coffee machine. Reid turned, setting his mug down. Morgan looked upset. “So you…you convinced Prentiss to talk about all this?”

Reid shrugged, looking away, a bit uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t say I…convinced her. People with secrets generally have an easier time opening up about them in a neutral place, and food always helps. So I just fixed the circumstances to make them favorable for Emily’s comfort and…told her all the things I’d noticed, how antsy she was and everything, and told her we were here for her.”

He paused, wondering how he should go on. “I mean, we were all there for Rossi when he had that case he’d been working on for so long, for Hotch when Haley died, for me when my repressed memories came to light, and you and Garcia when you needed it…I just told her that we’d do the same for her.”

Morgan nodded, shaking his head and laughing under his breath. “Well…thanks, pretty boy. I’m sorry I…man, I’m sorry I told you to leave it alone. If you hadn’t…she might have done something stupid.”

Reid laughed in agreement. “Sounds like Emily.”

Morgan laughed in full, then, looking more relaxed. “Yeah, it does.” He patted Reid’s shoulder as he passed, smirking at the empty mug. “Slow down on the caffeine, Reid. You can only go so long without sleep.”

Reid shrugged. “Hasn’t killed me yet.”

…

“Really? Interesting. Thank you.”

Ian Doyle hung up the phone and glanced out the tinted window, watching as Lauren Reynolds and two of her associates exited the bus stop and made their way towards her apartment building.

He looked closer, catching sight of Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid. He smirked. He should’ve known those two would be the ones to step into the protective role, though he had to admit that Dr. Reid seemed somewhat ill-fitted for the task.

Dr. Reid. Now _he_ was an anomaly. He also wouldn’t have pegged him to confront Lauren first about her erratic behavior, but even he could be surprised every once in a while. 

He’d been given another surprise when he discovered that Dr. Reid was an active agent. He’d have guessed that the genius was the brain of the operation, kept intentionally separated from the muscle, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

Doyle smiled. His build was lacking, and his brain surely wouldn’t save him from a physical attack.

He knew exactly how to get to Lauren Reynolds. She was going to come straight to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much! Hope you enjoyed! Let me know :)


	4. Acta, Non Verba

_Acta, Non Verba_

_Meaning “Deeds, above words”_

“You really don’t have to move in,” Emily said as she closed the door behind them, dropping her keys in a bowl by the door. “Reid already did that.”

“Forgive me if I want to be sure you’re not spirited away,” Morgan said, clapping Reid on the shoulder as he sank onto the couch, laughing as Sergio jumped up onto his shoulders. “Hey, menace.”

“If you’re going to stay, you’re going to be nice to my cat,” Emily threatened, putting her purse down.

Reid chuckled as he sat down in the armchair, kicking off his Converse and pulling his feet up to sit cross-legged. “And I’ve already claimed the couch, so you’re going to have to deal with an air mattress.”

“In your dreams, pretty boy,” Morgan teased, Sergio lounging happily in his lap. “See? The cat sat down. I can’t move now.”

Reid rolled his eyes as Emily locked up, setting her bag in her room before coming back to the living room. “Takeout?”

“Good with me,” Morgan said, Reid nodding in confirmation. It sounded good.

“While we wait, I’m gonna call JJ,” Reid said, fishing his phone out of his bag. “And…and Elle, just to be doubly safe. I just want them to be aware.” He paused, glancing at Emily, whose face was carefully blank. “Is that okay?”

Emily quirked a smile. “Of course. I would’ve called JJ myself, anyways.”

Reid quirked a smile and excused himself to the foyer, dialing JJ’s number.

It rang three times before JJ picked up. “Spence? Hey, what’s up?”

“Hi, JJ,” he said, leaning against the wall and scuffing his obnoxiously colored socked toe against the carpet. Emily sure had a lot of money. This place was twice the size of his apartment, and aptly decorated. “You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” she said, distant cheering in the background. “Henry’s on his second soccer game. They won the first game by a landslide. You’re still coming to the championship this weekend, right? I don’t think he’s going to speak to you until Christmas, otherwise.”

Reid laughed quietly, grinning. His godson was a force to be reckoned with when Reid failed to show up for something, and he wondered how Hotch did it, honestly. “Of course; I’ll do my best. Tell him I love him and good luck. Will’s okay? Everything’s going fine?”

“Yeah, we’re all fine,” she said, her voice taking on a suspicious quality the longer they talked. Reid knew why; he didn’t normally ask about Will beyond a short pleasantry. “What’s going on?”

“Um, well,” Reid started, scuffing his socked foot on her rug again, “You know how I was worried about Emily?” JJ made a noise of affirmation. “Well, it’s…kind of big. Someone’s after her, someone from her past. So I just wanted to call and…well, tell you to be safe, and to keep Henry and Will close until we get this guy. He’s dangerous, and he’s threatened the team.”

JJ was silent for a few long seconds, the distant shouting becoming more distant as she moved away. “Is Emily okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s safe,” Reid assured, glancing into the living room, where Emily was trying to steal her cat back from Morgan. “Morgan and I have basically moved into her apartment until this is all over, so…yeah. I just want you to be careful. He didn’t start watching us until after you left, so everything should be fine, but…” he shrugged, then remembered she couldn’t see him, and said, “Well, I just want you to be safe.”

JJ laughed quietly, but Reid could hear the strain in her voice. “I will be. I’ll make sure everybody’s safe. You stay safe, too, Spence. Promise?”

Reid smiled. He looked down, a hand in the pocket of his sweater. Even if his only living relative who mattered didn’t remember him half the time, even if his father had abandoned him…it felt good to know he had a family despite it all. “I will. See you soon.”

“See you.”

Reid disconnected the call, dialing Elle’s number. They hadn’t spoken much since her untimely departure, but he’d really liked her, and they exchanged a few words every once in a while. He knew she’d had a bad argument with Hotch, but he didn’t know the details, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

She said she was doing well, living it up as a consultant to the Sacramento PD. He wondered how they’d never run into her on their trips out to California, but he realized she probably wouldn’t have wanted to see most of them, after everything. She promised to take care after extracting a promise that he would do the same.

He leaned against the wall of the foyer, eyebrows drawing together in pensive concern as he tapped through his contacts, coming to rest over the G’s.

Gideon…Elle was different. Elle and Emily were never together, so Reid’s calling her was probably completely unnecessary. Gideon, on the other hand…

Hesitantly, hearing laughter from the living room, Reid dialed Gideon’s number.

Gideon didn’t pick up, not that Reid expected him to. He’d called several times over the past few years, and Gideon never had, no matter what the voicemail said. Some had been just…talking to him. Telling him about their cases (only the good ones), about his day, about his mother. Sometimes, he’d called and cried, asking him why he’d left. Asking him why, after he knew what Reid’s father had done, why he’d leave and cut off contact? If he wanted to leave the BAU, fine, but leave _Reid_?

And sometimes, he’d just…yelled at him. Those were bad ones, and were usually followed by copious voicemails of apologies and questions. Unfortunately, Gideon had never returned any of the calls, and Reid wasn’t sure he got any of them. They made him feel better, anyways.

“Hi, Gideon,” Reid said quietly after his mentor’s voicemail message, closing his eyes. “I just…well, um…Emily Prentiss? Remember her? Right, of course you do. Well…I just wanted to tell you that someone’s after her, and has threatened…threatened the team. Well, I guess you don’t need to worry since he didn’t start watching us until a little while ago, but…”

Reid took a shaky breath, fidgeting with the edge of his sweater sleeve. “Just…be careful. That’s all.”

Reid quickly disconnected the call, feeling stupid.

He came back into the living room with a forced smile and sat quickly on the armchair, watching as Emily shuffled some cards on the low glass table in the living room, she and Morgan sitting on the floor on either side of it. Reid chuckled under his breath, sitting back in his armchair. Sergio steadfastly avoided him, lying lazing on the couch and flicking his tail around, watching.

“Hey, everyone okay?” Emily asked, cards swishing between her fingers as she cut the deck. “You were gone for a while.”

Reid smiled. “Yeah, everyone’s fine. Henry’s soccer team won their first game.”

“Kid’s headed to the Fifa Cup,” Morgan joked, smiling.

Reid liked this. Despite the heavy atmosphere, it felt…peaceful here. A nice little bubble of security despite the impending doom of the situation. Reid was happy they could provide Emily some degree of comfort. He rubbed his temple, but was pleased to find that his head was just aching slightly, not throbbing in excruciating pain.

“What’re we playing?” Reid asked, watching Emily begin to deal.

“Uh-uh,” Morgan said resolutely, giving him a look as Emily laughed. “ _We_ are not playing anything. _Prentiss_ and I are playing Rummy. You and Sergio can watch, cheater.”

“I don’t cheat, I just understand the probability sequences and the likelihood of which cards will come into play sooner,” Reid defended. “Actually, rummy has a rather interesting history. Several claim that it has Mexican origins, but some have also argued that it comes from the Chinese game, Khanhoo. There’s also an Indian variation—”

Emily’s phone buzzed on the table. “Saved by the bell,” she said with a friendly glance at Reid. “Hello? Great, thank you. Yeah, I’ll be right down.” She hung up, folding her cards down on the table. “Food’s here.”

She made to stand, but Reid quickly stopped her. “No, I’ll get it. You guys just started a game.”

“You sure?” Morgan asked, the slightest shadow of unease descending over the otherwise lighthearted room.

“Yeah, I’ve got my gun,” Reid said, patting his revolver with a smile. “No worries. I won’t even leave the front of the building. Plus, I’d guarantee that Hotch has extra security on the street.”

Morgan sent him a look, but acquiesced. Emily, though, was tense. “Reid, maybe I should get it.”

“Emily, you’re the one he’s after,” Reid argued logically, shoving his feet into his shoes and pulling on his sweater. “Even if he’s threatened us, it doesn’t mean he’s prepared so quickly after we’ve set this up. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Emily still looked unsure, but sighed, waving at the door. “Fine, just…go and get back. Quickly.”

Reid smiled, closing the door behind him.

…

Ian Doyle dumped the body of the courier in the alley, glad she’d been stupid enough to make the call to Lauren before she’d exited his car. It wouldn’t have stopped him, but it would have complicated his movements, somewhat.

If the BAU grunts had any sense, one or both of them would come down to retrieve the emptied Chinese takeout bags he plucked from the backseat of the dead woman’s car. They wouldn’t let the target come down alone. If they had sense, they also wouldn’t leave her alone, which meant a single member would come to retrieve the bags.

The security in the innocuous maintenance van across the street had been too easy to subdue, and Doyle was distantly insulted by the ease with which he completed the task.

Focusing back on the situation, Doyle watched the door intently as he waited in a shadowed area, his hood covering his shaved head. He’d prefer the skinny one—he seemed to mean more to Lauren. He knew that didn’t mean much based on their history, but he’d take what he could get.

The other one would do, as well, but…Dr. Spencer Reid was an interesting fellow, and he had no doubt that Lauren would be wracked with guilt with every injury he suffered in her name.

His lip curled in victory as the doctor’s thin form descended the last stairs, exiting the front doors. His hand was on the handle of his gun, and his sharp eyes were surveying the street with clinical detail.

He looked around. The apartment complex was well-lit, in a nice area, but it was getting quite late. There was few people on the streets, and the security guard standing just inside the apartment’s front doors looked quite close to falling asleep. Disposing of the security guard and cutting the camera feed had been child’s play, as well. Even their famous Garcia wouldn’t be able to trace him.

He smiled. Everything was going just to plan.

“Did you order takeout?” He asked amiably, sticking to the shadows and starting for him.

He turned, and Doyle watched the focus fade from his eyes as he smiled in greeting. “Yes, just let me get—my wallet—”

Doyle watched the young man struggle to disentangle his wallet from his pocket, taking the moment of distraction to place himself between the security guard’s line of sight and his target. “Actually, that won’t be necessary.”

The doctor glanced up at the unexpected statement, his eyes widening as he finally recognized Doyle from Emily’s thorough description, his face finally illuminated by the artificial glow. The young man’s eyes quickly glanced down at the takeout bags, disguising the gun aimed up at his chest.

“You were watching me,” the doctor said in recognition, his eyes filling with uncertainty and surprise. “That day in the park…you were feeding the birds…”

Doyle smiled. “I like to be prepared.” The click of the safety on Doyle’s gun being released was quite loud in the otherwise quiet street.

The agent stilled.

“I’ll skip the pleasantries, as I assume you know who I am,” Doyle said quietly, watching the guarded expressions of fear and nervousness flit across Spencer’s face. “You’re going to turn around and walk towards the blue car at the end of the block, and you’re going to do it naturally. If you don’t, I’m going to shoot the security guard, then you, then the woman and her baby down the street.”

He saw the doctor’s eyes fill with fear as he glanced towards the bus stop where a mother was rocking her baby, waiting anxiously for the bus.

The young doctor’s throat bobbed once in fear, his eyes narrowing as he nodded in reluctant agreement.

Doyle smiled. “Excellent. I’m glad we could come to an understanding.” Keeping his movements casual, he gestured for the doctor to put his gun in the bag, using only two fingers and smooth movements. The doctor complied.

“Now your phone.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, slowly depositing his phone in the bag. Doyle glanced around again, ensuring that there were no obnoxious passersby who would interrupt.

“I know,” he said simply. The young man’s shoulders stiffened in response, and Doyle nodded down the street, smiling. “Let’s go. Remember, it’s not just your life at stake.”

Doyle escorted the doctor to the car. He walked jerkily, stiffly, like a robot on strings, and his eyes were constantly roaming the area. Doyle knew he was looking for an opening, and was resolved not to give him one.

He almost smiled at the way the man’s shoulders sank in desperation when they reached the car.

“Lauren should’ve come herself,” Doyle said, the doctor’s hand tense on the door handle. Despite the young man’s desire to put up a brave face, his hands were shaking. Doyle smiled. He’d made the right decision, after all. “Then you wouldn’t have been put in the middle.”

“Leave Emily alone,” the young man said resolutely, his tone biting. It was a significant shift from the insecure young man he’d been keeping tabs on, and Doyle was impressed by his surprisingly fierce protective streak. “She’s not Lauren, and you have no right to her. She was doing her job.”

Doyle’s eye twitched, and he catalogued the young man’s words as fuel for the first punishment he’d receive, once they had more privacy. “Whether or not I have a right to her is irrelevant, Dr. Reid. Get in the backseat, or I promise, I _will_ kill everyone in sight.”

The doctor flinched, his eyes inevitably dropping to the filthy pavement as he complied, his limbs rigid.

Doyle was under no impression that the doctor would remain compliant once the threat to innocent bystanders had passed, so he worked quickly and efficiently. He’d taken all the handles out of every door but the driver’s side, and had stocked up on plastic-cuffs and zipties.

He had a secluded area picked out a few miles away, where another car was waiting for him, out of sight of any cameras or security threats. There, he’d switch cars, knock the doctor unconscious, and continue on his way.

By the time Dr. Reid got the chance to fight back, he’d be unconscious in the trunk, and his revenge would have begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe I did a thing
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know!! Thanks!


	5. Hoc es Bellum

_ Hoc es bellum _

_ Meaning, “This is war” _

“How long does he need to get takeout?” Prentiss asked, glancing nervously at the door, which had yet to open. “He’s been gone ten minutes. They called and said they were right outside.”

Though he’d done his best to hide it, Morgan’s mind had also wandered from the game, and after a second, he folded his cards down. “I’ll go see what the hold-up is.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Morgan stood, raising an eyebrow as Sergio leapt from his shoulder to lounge on the couch. “Prentiss, you’re the target. Don’t you think that’s a bad idea? Besides, who will protect your defenseless cat?” He gestured at the lazy black kitten, tail circling the air in haughty observation. 

Prentiss crossed her arms over her chest, looking every inch like an unmovable brick wall. “I’m. Coming.”

Morgan sighed, fully aware it was a losing battle. “Fine. Just…don’t be a martyr, okay?”

Prentiss’s eyes narrowed. “Funny, Morgan. I’m far from a martyr.”

Morgan shook his head. 

They descended to the ground floor, expecting to find Reid waiting out front or in the lobby, but there was no immediate sign of him. Morgan’s heart started beating a little faster, but he quickly forced himself to calm down. There was nothing to say he’d been taken. He could be in the bathroom, or outside.

“Prentiss, check the men’s room, I’ll check out front,” he said, hand settling on his firearm.

“On any other day I’d demand we change assignments, but fine,” she said, hand on her gun as she beelined for the restrooms. Morgan went out front, passing a dozing security guard.

He wasn’t there.

Morgan’s heart was beating a lot faster, now.

He took his gun carefully out of his belt, creeping down the sidewalk. Down the street, a mother and her baby were sitting at the bus stop. The baby was crying.

“Reid?” he called carefully, sticking to the lit parts of the sidewalk, carefully scanning the shadows. “Reid, c’mon, man. Sound off.”

He was met with only cold silence.

As he reached an alley down the street, he was about to double back, when something caught his eye, stopping him dead in his tracks. Seeping around the corner of the alley was a thin line of crimson blood.

Morgan’s heart leapt into his throat, and his heart was suddenly pounding very, very fast.

He clicked on his Tac light, holding it level with his gun as he carefully approached the alley, taking a calming breath before he whipped around into the alley’s mouth, lighting the dark crevice of the street.

There was a body.

He crept forward, splashing the intense light from his flashlight over the prostrate form, all at once taking in the rumpled, blood-stained uniform shirt, the khaki pants, and the discarded baseball cap lying a couple feet from the lax face, open eyes staring accusingly at the endless sky. 

He was guilty at the relief that flooded him when he realized it wasn’t Reid.

“Prentiss,” he called around the corner, holstering his gun and reaching for his phone to call Hotch. He had a sinking feeling that the surveillance down the street wouldn’t answer when he called. His gut was writhing, and his hunger from earlier was replaced by a poignant nausea at Reid’s situation. He didn’t even know what it was yet, and that was worse.

Prentiss heard him, and hurried to his side, gun drawn. She saw the body, and her face blanched.

“Oh, my God,” she said, the usually stoic woman covering her mouth and turning away, resting a hand on top of her head as she stared at the street with wide, blank eyes. “It’s him. It’s…oh, my God, where’s Reid?”

Morgan ignored the question, closing his eyes as Hotch picked up. 

“Hotch,” he said, glancing at Prentiss, who met his eyes. All the stoicism in the world couldn’t hide her fear. It couldn’t hide his, either. “We have a situation.”

…

Reid blinked, but no matter how many times he did so, the darkness persisted.

He’d woken a few minutes ago, incredibly uncomfortably and sweating as his heart pounding frantically, testing his bonds. He was upright in a chair, his hands bound behind him with plastic-cuffs, his ankles secured to each chair leg. There was coarse fabric tied around his mouth, and it was bone dry. He thought there might have been a bag over his head. Maybe that’s why it was so dark. He hoped so.

He flexed his hands, trying to increase the blood flow in his fingers, but the pins and needles persisted, bordering on terrifying numbness.

Even in the dark, he closed his eyes, trying to take a deep breath with the hot, stale air of his own recycled breath. The heat and the thickness and the inability to breathe through his mouth were sure to render him unconscious soon, and he fervently hoped Doyle would remove the bag before them.

Ian Doyle. Reid flinched despite himself, terror sweeping across his synapses as his skin prickled. 

He didn’t know why he’d been taken. He was sure it was to torment Emily, and his heart twisted at the thought that his dear friend would blame herself, but…he didn’t understand why Doyle didn’t just shoot him and leave him for Emily and Morgan to find. They would have been utterly distracted by him and his death or his injury, and Emily would have been much easier to take.

He had some ideas on Doyle’s endgame, but none of them were good.

“Awake?”

The voice was dreadfully familiar, and Reid tensed, turning his head in its direction despite his blindness. Luckily, that problem was quickly solved; Doyle tore the bag from his head in a smooth flush, and Reid grunted as light speared his eyes. He took a deep, shaking breath through his nose, relishing the feel of clean air.

He blinked rapidly, biting down hard on the gag as he glanced up when the spots finally cleared from his vision.

Doyle towered above with a dispassionate, controlled frown, aggressive posture, and dark, blazing eyes.

If there was any more moisture in his mouth, Reid would have swallowed in fear. As it was, he only ended up coughing into the gag, an unintended whine slipping out at the pain in his grating throat.

“Sorry for the rough transport,” Doyle said, flinging the bag to the side without a second glance. Reid shifted in his seat, his hands cramping. “We had to move quick. Lauren’s a worrier, and that Morgan kid seems like the type to act impulsively.”

Reid’s hackles rose as Doyle mentioned his teammates, and his tense muscles shuddered in fear, for himself and for them. At least, while he was here, no one else was in immediate danger. 

“I’m sure you’re…wondering why you’re here,” Doyle said thoughtfully, lifting what looked like a black medical bag onto a rickety rolling table a few feet from his chair. Reid went rigid at the metallic clanking from inside, eyes widening in helplessness.

He couldn’t do a single thing but sit in this chair and wait to be hurt, and he was catapulted back into the dark shed with that god-awful smell and the utterly perplexing dichotomy of Charles’ hatred and Tobias’ kindness.

He bit down on the gag hard and shut his eyes tightly as Doyle removed a pair of scuffed, chipped plyers from the bag, setting them carefully on the table. A whimper left his throat, and he hated the sign of weakness, but he couldn’t help it.

“Don’t blame, me,” Doyle said, continuing to unload instruments of torture and pain. Reid’s mind raced, and for some cruel reason, he couldn’t keep his brain from conjuring up stark, clear images of injuries and deaths caused by each of the instruments in question. “Blame Lauren.”

“It’s not her fault,” Reid mumbled. The gag muffled his message, but he knew what he’d said. Doyle probably did, too. That was enough. Nothing Doyle could do would make Reid forget the quietly desperate look in Emily’s usually blank eyes as she revealed her past to him. 

Maybe he’d cry, and bend, and sob and beg for mercy. Maybe he’d revert back to the scared child he used to be, in Hankel’s shed. Maybe Doyle would laugh at him as he was wrenched apart by fear and hopelessness.

Reid knew he’d bend. He wouldn’t be able to help it. But he made the decision, as he had in Hankel’s shed, that he would not break. He’d made mistakes in Hankel’s case. He’d let the Dilaudid dictate his words, and he’d condemned Hotch to a horrible fate, even if it had been with the intention of giving them a clue.

He’d bend. He’d been bent then. But he _wouldn’t_ break. He couldn’t do that to Emily, or the rest of them.

Reid closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. 

“Looks like you’re going to give me some trouble,” Doyle commented, voice carefully dispassionate, contrasting with the hellfire in his eyes. 

Reid didn’t even see it coming. He’d been preparing himself, breathing steadily, trying to construct last-minute walls of unemotional fortification to hide behind, when steel knuckles crashed into his cheekbone.

Reid yelled into the gag, his face splintering in pain, and he’d barely had time to reconcile the pain with the action before he was being hit again. 

Reid didn’t know how long it lasted, but he tried to distract himself by cataloguing his injuries clinically, by analyzing Doyle’s technique and matching it to theoretical martial arts training, by thinking about statistics for kidnapping victims (which didn’t help). He was also frantically analyzing Ian Doyle’s temperament and language, wondering if it was even possible to ingratiate himself to the man.

Reid knew he’d been taken for revenge, and to hurt Emily. Nothing Reid could say was going to stop that. 

He’d just have to pray he could hold out until he was rescued, or until he found a way to escape.

The latter was looking more and more unlikely with every hit he took, and every bone that splintered.

“I’d say it’s not personal,” Doyle panted, his hands red with Reid’s blood, bathing his knuckles in crimson. Reid’s eyes were squinted at him, all he could manage, and Doyle’s form was spinning and swaying. He breathed raggedly through his swelling nose, feeling unconsciousness creep in quietly. “But it is. And it’s going to get worse.”

Doyle’s face was a mask of rage, and Reid’s sanity was wound like a long, tight thread, fraying with each hit.

Reid closed his eyes, and let unconsciousness take him.

…

Emily’s nails were bleeding.

She huffed in frustrated anger and wrapped a tissue around her pointer finger, waiting for the bleeding to stop, left she get it all over the paperwork she was shuffling through. 

“Prentiss,” Morgan said from across the conference table. Emily glanced up, tapping her fingers nervously on the table. “You gotta calm down.”

“I am calm,” she said immediately. Compared to what she wanted to be doing, this was quite tame. 

“It’s understandable if you’re a little on edge, Emily,” Rossi consoled, patting her shoulder as he stood before the board, looking for clues they’d yet to see. “We all are.”

Emily shook her head, going back to her files. She couldn’t right now. She wouldn’t be able to deal with this until Reid was safe. 

Thankfully, she was saved from the conversation going further by Hotch entering the room, tense and tight. “I just got off the phone with Strauss. She’s agreed to reroute all our cases until Reid’s back safe.”

Emily barely withheld a sigh of relief. That was one battle won. 

“Garcia’s checking in to any suspicious activities at the airports for men fitting Doyle’s description and demographic. Prentiss, you said he had a team?”

Emily nodded, closing the file she was on and throwing the bloodied tissue away, her nails raw. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had three or four well-trained hitmen at his beck and call. I’ll talk to my friend in Interpol and see if he can give me any more information.”

“Okay. We’ll continue building the profile, see what we can come up with.” Hotch was on edge, but Emily had to admire how controlled he kept it all. She couldn’t see any overt tics, unlike her nail-biting and finger-tapping.

Emily was about to broach the topic of Declan, and the possibility that he’d found out the boy was live, when her phone rang.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, fishing it out and stepping towards the door, blinking in surprise and stopping at the entrance. 

The others must have seen the way her face drained of color.

“Prentiss?” Hotch asked as the phone continued to ring in her hand. “Is everything alright? Who is it?”

Emily took a sharp breath, her thumb hovering over the answer button.

The panic was overwhelming, threatening to blind her to everything she needed to be doing, but she shoved it down. She was not going to let her emotions jeopardize her chances of getting her friend back alive.

“Call Garcia. It’s Reid.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA. I’m awful, aren’t I? Sorry not sorry. Hope you liked it!
> 
> Let me know what you thought! Thanks!


	6. Dictum Factum

_Dictum Factum_

_Meaning, “What is said is done”_

Garcia, eyes wide behind her thick glasses, nodded, her hands hovering shakily over her keyboard.

Emily took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and answered the call.

“Hello?” She was glad that her voice was steady. The rest of her painted a different picture.

“Lauren.”

Even though she’d been expecting the grating, slightly accented voice from her past, hearing it after so many years and so many nightmares still sent her spine pin straight against her chair. She managed to redirect her full-body flinch to a spasm in her foot under the table, but she felt her eyes darken all the same. “Ian.”

“Been a long time,” he said by way of greeting, and Emily felt her blood boil and freeze all at once. Morgan’s fists were clenched, and he stood angrily to the side, burning holes in her cell phone. Hotch and Rossi stood stiffly to the side, and Garcia was typing frantically. Her face was screwed up in desperate frustration.

“Not long enough,” she said honestly, hoping she could keep him on the phone long enough to get some answers. “Where’s Reid?”

“Dr. Reid’s a little tied up at the moment,” he said, not a shred of humor in his voice. “We’re talking right now, and I’m going to be angry if you continue to sound distracted.”

“I’m not continuing this conversation until I talk to my friend,” she stated. She knew Doyle’s temper was nothing to mess with, but she also couldn’t stand the buzz of uncertainty humming throughout her body as she pictured Reid. She didn’t know if he was hurt, or worse…

“I’m not sure I like Emily as much as Lauren. She’s much more demanding,” Doyle said.

“Get used to her,” I ordered, feeling my eyes darken. Garcia’s hands were typing rapidly, and she motioned to Hotch, fear in her eyes. Hotch glanced at the screen, the stoic man’s eyes twisted in an uncharacteristic display of frustration.

Doyle sighed, long-suffering and frustrated. “You want to hear your boy? Fine.”

There was a second of silence, a muffled shout, and a gunshot. Then a muted scream.

She’d recognize her friend’s voice anywhere.

Emily pushed back and up from the table in shock, shouts dying on her lips as her chest filled with heart-stopping fear.

Morgan cursed an hit the wall with a shaking fist, eyes screwed shut in anger, and Hotch turned away, his hands on his head. Rossi’s eyes closed in abject horror, and Garcia barely managed to stop her shout of surprise, her hands pressed firmly over her mouth as she cried.

Emily felt dozens of words and expletives and questions and pleas stop short in her throat, choking her, so she swallowed thickly and took a shaking breath.

“What the _hell_ did you do?” She finally managed, her voice shaking.

“Gave you proof of life,” Doyle said, his voice wound tight like a stretched rubber band. She recognized that tone. She didn’t ever want to hear it again, and she’d give anything—her life, her future, _anything_ —to get Reid out of there. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Proof of life? Knowledge that one of your precious little teammates was still alive? I gave it to you.”

Emily felt her lip curl in hatred and forced herself to calm down. She wouldn’t help Reid like this. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. “It’s me you want. What do you need to leave Reid out of this?”

“Oh, no, Lauren,” Doyle said, false sympathy perverting his words. “No. No, you don’t get to do that. It was me you wanted, but you had to go and involve Declan, didn’t you?” Emily flinched, eyes widening. _That’s what this is about_. “It’s only fair I take someone you love and rip them away from you, isn’t it? _Isn’t it_?”

“Ian,” she said, softening her tone, no matter how agonizing it was, trying to sound a little more like Lauren. “Ian, don’t do this. I’ll meet you somewhere. We can run away. I’ll take you to Declan, how’s that?”

There was a moment of tense silence, and she felt the eyes of her family on her, and through the static, she could hear Reid’s heavy breathing, the muted groans of agony that speared her heart.

Finally, Doyle said, “Do you want me to shoot him again? Because I will. I will. I’ll make you suffer the same way I suffered, having to listen to someone you love die an agonizing death. What does it matter if you take me to him? He was an innocent little boy. Dr. Reid’s not quite as young, but he’ll do. You deserve the same things I suffered through.”

“Declan’s alive,” she whispered quickly, as soon as she had a moment of silence to do so.

She hated herself for the words. Tsia had died to protect that secret. Easter had made it quite clear that they’d all take it to their graves. Declan had to pretend to die to keep the secret, and Emily had sworn she would die with it no matter what, to protect that innocent little boy’s future. No matter what.

But Reid was suffering because of things she’d done, after trying his best to help her, and she…she couldn’t abandon him. Not Reid.

Another brief spurt of silence set her hackles on edge and stole the breath from her lungs. Garcia was crying openly, and Morgan put his hands on her shoulders, looking at the computer screen with an expression of controlled fury. No luck on the trace, then.

Finally, Doyle said, “You’ve lied about a lot of things, but I didn’t think you’d be so stupid as to lie about that. I have the _picture_. I have the picture of my dead son and the nanny.”

“Whose hand do you see holding the gun, Ian?”

There was brief rustling, a muffled curse, and Emily knew she had him. For better or worse, he believed her, and that gave them something to bargain with. “You bitch.”

“I’ve been called worse,” she admitted. “Reid for Declan.” The words twisted her soul.

Hotch eyed her, but she didn’t let herself look at him. She couldn’t deal with that right now. She’d deal with keeping Declan safe later. Honestly, she didn’t even know if the location she had for Declan was accurate, but it was a bargaining chip. Now, all she had to figure out was how to keep Reid alive.

“I’ll call again,” he growled, and the line went dead.

A brief, suspended second of frozen time hung heavy around them, and Emily felt her knees shaking as she braced her hands on the conference table, staring at her blank phone screen. Reid’s screams echoed in her ears.

“I’m so sorry,” Garcia stammered, her makeup streaking her twisted face. “I-I-I tried, b-but…but the signal was bouncing around thirty cell t-towers, running through three proxy servers, I…there was n-no way to trace it.”

Emily closed her eyes and hung her head. “Reid was taken three hours ago. Doyle’s very meticulous—he would’ve had all his countersurveillance for the phone call set up ahead of time, but it would’ve taken him some time to upload Reid’s phone number and put that all in place. Not to mention getting Reid out of the car and secured in his location. Search every abandoned property at least a mile from all major highways in a two and a half hour radius. He’ll be in one of those.”

Garcia’s hands were still shaking, but she looked overjoyed to have something constructive to do.

“I’ll call TSA and see if they have any updates on Doyle’s team,” Rossi offered slowly, patting Emily’s shoulder on his way out.

“Prentiss?” Hotch asked quietly, his serious eyes dark in worry.

“Give me a minute,” she said, fleeing the room without another word.

She walked briskly down the halls past her coworkers, ignoring the stares and the whispers, and practically threw herself into the women’s restroom. She barely managed to lock the stall behind her before she lost her battle with the nausea.

 _I’m so sorry, Reid_ , she thought, hating herself for the tears in her eyes. _I’m so sorry_.

…

Reid’s leg was throbbing.

He’d been shot in the leg before, but he’d forgotten how much it _hurt_. Not to mention, he’d been shot at a much closer range than when he was protecting the doctor. He wondered if the bullet was lodged in his thigh or had gone through his leg and the chair. His chances of getting an infection were sixty percent more likely if it was the latter, depending on how clean Doyle kept his weaponry.

Through the pounding tidal waves in his head, he heard Doyle’s muted discussion with Emily, and wished he could talk to her. Wished he could talk to his team.

He closed his eyes as tears of pain clouded his vision, biting hard on the gag to try to stifle the sounds of pain bubbling in his throat.

He heard a brief second of unusual silence to see Doyle rummaging around in his bag, frantically looking for something, only to emerge with a picture. “You bitch.”

Reid winced as Doyle’s voice became increasingly angry, for once grateful for the gag. He was worried if Doyle tried to shoot him again, he wouldn’t be able to keep from begging, and it was the last thing he wanted to do. The _absolute_ last thing he wanted to do with his team on the line.

Reid half-listened to the conversation, trying to keep the spasms in his leg to a minimum. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get out of this one. He _definitely_ knew he wasn’t getting out of this alone. He was beaten badly, and adding the gunshot wound…if Doyle didn’t bind it, Reid would be in danger of hypovolemic shock in a few hours.

He was startled out of his thoughts by Doyle’s low, angry voice ending the call, promptly shutting off Reid’s phone to make sure it couldn’t be tracked. Reid closed his eyes in defeat, and might have slipped into unconsciousness had the pain not kept him startlingly awake.

He was shocked back into awareness with his own screams as Doyle slapped a crude bandage over the hole in his leg, whining into the gag and trying, futilely, to escape the pain.

“You might be worth more alive than dead after all,” Doyle growled, pulling the makeshift bandage tight and almost sending Reid spiraling into unconsciousness. “Once I get Lauren and my son, though, I’m afraid you’re going to have to be disposed of.”

Reid’s eyes widened even as tears pooled in his eyes.

 _Emily, no_ , he thought hopelessly.

She’d revealed Declan for him. After everything she said about keeping the boy safe, she’d…Emily…

Reid felt a cruel twist of nausea in his gut, and swallowed spastically, shutting his eyes as tears rolled down his face, soaking into the gag.

Reid didn’t like letting himself get bogged down in emotional reactions. He much preferred to stick to the analytical side of things. It helped him think, and concentrate.

This time, there was little for him to think about. He couldn’t reason with Doyle, he couldn’t communicate with his team, he couldn’t drop hints, or…or help himself, not in this state. He was entirely reliant on his team, and now…Emily had put a young boy in danger for him.

He could only sit in this wooden chair and wait to be rescued. He hated that he’d put Emily in this position. He hated that he was helpless.

All he could do was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Heheeeeee. I suck. Lol. Thanks for reading!! 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and let me know what you thought :D I hope you enjoyed


	7. Para Bellum

_Para Bellum_

_Meaning, “Prepare for war”_

Reid blinked sluggishly awake, and fervently wished he hadn’t.

He _hurt_. His leg throbbed with a fiery agony that wormed its way into his toes and hip, his entire leg spasming as shards of pain speared the wound. The gag had been in long enough to completely suck the moisture from his mouth, and he’d give just about anything for a cool glass of water. With all the blood he’d lost and the length of time he’d been here, dehydration was sure to take its toll soon.

Besides that, he felt like one enormous bruise, small nicks and scratches from the steel knuckles littering his face and chest.

He closed his eyes. This was a disaster.

“Finished with your nap?”

Reid flinched at Doyle’s cool voice, opening his eyes. Through blurred vision, he saw Doyle sitting towards the middle of the room, glancing at him with dispassionate eyes. He was facing two computer screens, and Reid’s heart throbbed at the thought of the safety of Garcia’s cave.

At his silence, Doyle heaved a sigh, rising slowly and coming towards him. Reid flinched away despite himself, hating himself for the overt display of weakness, but all Doyle did was pull the gag from his mouth, leaving it to hang around his neck. Reid took a shaky breath, coughing at the dryness in his throat.

“Unfortunately, I need you alive for now,” Doyle said, shoving a plastic water bottle against Reid’s lips. Reid drank like a dying man, guzzling half the bottle before it was taken away. “I’ll call Lauren soon, then we’ll get started.”

Reid took a deep breath, his lungs constricting. “Her name is Emily.”

The quiet words were weak and small, but the message was enough.

Doyle eyed him, but instead of getting angry like Reid expected, he smirked. “Sure it is. Her name was Lauren, too. And you know what, kid? She’s had dozens of other names, too. Emily may have been the name she was born with, but she’ll always be Lauren.”

Reid swallowed again. “Then who are you?” At Doyle’s glance—something between intrigue and frustration, but Reid can’t overthink it, for once—he continues. “You’re Ian, and Chuck, and Valhalla. So who are you?”

Doyle smirked, but it was overshadowed by the dark eyes and tense jaw. “I can see why Lauren likes you.”

Doyle went to replace the gag, but Reid was faster, desperate for any type of rapport with the man. He needed to do _something_. “Why are you so obsessed with Emily?”

Doyle stilled, his jaw ticking. “Well, I would’ve thought it obvious. She betrayed me, and up until a little while ago, I thought she _killed my son_.”

“But she didn’t,” Reid said quickly, thanking God he finally had something to work with. He tried to be honest, and genuine, and sincere. He knew it would have little effect on the heartless man, but he couldn’t be heartless if he was willing to take revenge for his son. Reid had to do _something_. “She didn’t. She kept him safe from your other enemies, Ian. She hid him away not only from you, but from those who would use him against you in the future. She gave him a new identity and set him up for the rest of his life. She gave him a _good_ life.”

Reid breathed, trying to ignore Doyle’s empty eyes. He didn’t know if he was helping or hurting his situation, but he had to try. “She saved him, and she’d do anything to protect him.”

Doyle’s jaw ticked, and Reid barely saw his hand move before he was backhanded. His leg screamed at the jerky motion, but he didn’t have time to cry out before his jaw was grabbed.

“Another word and Lauren will arrive to see your corpse,” Doyle hissed, shoving the gag back in his mouth.

Reid took a shaking, steadying breath as Doyle resumed his post by the computer, fishing out a burner phone.

Reid’s mind scanned the new information as quickly as it could. So Doyle was operating from a place of both revenge and inferiority, now—instead of understanding that Emily had in fact saved his son from his, instead of possessing the human empathy required to understand those actions, Doyle felt inadequate.

Protecting his son was something he’d done from the moment Declan was born—he’d gone so far as to keep his identity a secret, stealing moments with his son away from prying eyes. Protecting his son had been the fabric of his life for years, until he thought Declan had been shot and killed for his actions.

Now, Emily was the protector, and Doyle couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that stand.

Reid doesn’t know if he’s just made things better or worse, but even anger was easier than those empty eyes.

…

Emily tapped her fingers in an off-kilter rhythm on the table, staring at the map in front of her.

Garcia, bless her, had narrowed down the thousands of abandoned properties on this East Coast to about seventy. It was far from ideal, but it was a starting point. Emily just had to figure out which one would make Doyle feel safest, and then they’d be on their way.

She felt her eyes pinch in grief and terror as she thought of Reid. She remembered what he’d been like after Hankel, and she couldn’t bear the thought of it happening again. She knew Reid was tough, but…even FBI agents could only take so much.

“How’s it coming?”

Morgan’s unexpected voice startled her, and she jumped in her seat, only relaxing when she turned and saw him in the doorway. “Didn’t mean to spook you.”

“Sorry,” she said off-handedly, glancing at him as he sat down. She sent him a grateful smile as he slid a coffee towards her. “I told you I was thinking of cutting out coffee.”

“I think it can wait,” he said with a smirk, though she could see the worry lines in his forehead.

Emily sighed, taking a sip of the bitter liquid before looking back at the map.

“Reid’s a tough kid,” Morgan said after a moment. “He is. I know that, but…”

“…but Doyle’s sadistic,” Emily finished, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes to hide the strain in her features. “The good news is Reid will stay alive until we can convince Doyle we have Declan.”

Morgan nodded, then screwed up his face in a shadow of disbelieving reluctance. “You’re not really going to give the kid’s location away, right?”

Emily, hiding the flash of hurt at that statement, turned an incredulous look on her partner. “Of course not, Derek. That’s not on the table. It’s just a piece of information I’m using as a bargaining chip, you know that.”

“I know. Sorry, I had to ask. I just…” Morgan knocked his knuckles against the table, his face black in fear and rage. “Man, Reid doesn’t need this. Not after everything.”

Emily went to respond when Morgan’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it, a faint smile on his lips. “That’s Garcia with her hourly coffee order. When Reid gets back, she may actually beat his record for most cups in a day.”

Though the humor was shrouded in loss, it was a moment of levity in the darkness, and Emily smiled.

…

An hour later, he called again.

Emily was still alone in the conference room, and she’d eliminated twenty locations, but she could feel herself moving far too slowly. When her phone buzzed, hope leapt in her heart. She thought it may have been Easter or one of her other contacts with a lead.

It was a blocked number.

With a deep breath, wiping her face and voice and mind clear of emotion, she answered. “Hello?”

“Trace the call, alert anyone, try to end before I say so, your boy’s dead.”

Emily took a deep breath, releasing after counting slowly to three. “Understood.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.” She wanted to ask about Reid, but she knew she had to work up to that. If she asked now, Doyle was liable to hurt Reid further, as his ‘proof of life.’ “How are you?”

Doyle scoffed. “That’s a benign pleasantry. I was expecting something a little more…brusque.”

“Well, I’m Emily right now. Let me know if you want Lauren.” She tried to keep her tone even and placating, but something in it spoke of years of buried bitterness, and she quickly backtracked. “Which would you prefer?”

“I don’t give a shit. Both are going to die when I’m finished, so what’s it matter?”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. Why did you call?”

“You’re going to meet me somewhere. I’m going to bring the kid, and we’re going to trade—you and my son’s location for Dr. Reid. Understood?”

Her heart hammered in her chest, and faintly in the background, she heard muffled words. Reid. She smiled, a pale shade of love in a torrent of chaos, somehow knowing that he was absolutely against her trading their lives.

But this was what she’d been prepared to do from the start. If it was her or her team, she’d die a thousand times.

“Alright.”

Doyle paused. “I thought you’d resist.”

“Lauren would have.”

She left it at that, and so did he. “I’ll send you instructions. You’re going to make a few pitstops. And Lauren,” he said, his voice cold and cruel and dangerous, “if you alert anyone—if you make a single detour—if you do _anything_ to make me think you’re not following my instructions to the letter—he’s dead in the cruelest, most painful method of which I’m capable. Do you understand me?”

Her heart was palpitating like a rabbit’s and she was sure it would burst. Somehow, though, her response was calm, quiet, and even. “Yes.”

The dial tone greeted her a breath later.

Twenty seconds later, her phone buzzed with an address and a set of detailed instructions.

It was decidedly easy to slip out of the bullpen. Morgan and Garcia were in Garcia’s cave, and Hotch was holed up in his office on the phone with Strauss, trying to block any cases and enlist the help of other teams in the area, as well as local law enforcement and Interpol. Rossi was calling his many contacts in his many fields, trying to find someone who knew the slightest inkling of Doyle’s activities and could shed some light on his whereabouts.

She passed Reid’s cluttered desk, eyeing the piece of flimsy plastic that had hit her in the head when she’d been introduced to “science magic,” and smiled fondly.

She folded her coat over her arm and left.

Pins and needles walked up and down her spine, and she knew, she _knew_ , it may be the last time she ever left this bullpen. She’d spent almost five incredible years here—doing work that mattered as Emily, with people who loved her as Emily. Making a difference and making a name as Emily.

Emily was leaving, and she may never be back.

She glanced at the wall of agents killed in the line of duty as she waited for the elevator, a thrum of pain in her chest as she stared at a blank spot after the last frame.

A phantom image of herself was there, just for a moment, before she blinked and came back to herself.

She couldn’t think about right now. All that mattered right now was saving Reid, protecting Declan, and defeating Doyle, once and for all. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do it as she was now.

Emily got into elevator.

Six floors down, Lauren exited, and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It’s been a while! I hope you liked this chapter :D things are getting juicy…!!!!!
> 
> Thanks so much for all your support and encouragement, and I love you all


	8. Morior Invictus

_Morior Invictus_

Meaning “death before defeat”

Emily looked up at the grand bank, clutching the strap of her purse in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety.

This was the first of her pit stops leading to Doyle’s meeting. She had no doubt that these stops would act not only as necessary material collection, but also a means of shaking off anyone who followed her, intentionally or otherwise. She was reluctantly grateful, though, for the extra time to clear her head and formulate a plan.

The bank was obviously for the rich, with expensive marble pillars out front and cool stone floors. The high ceiling reverberated the quiet voices of the other customers and tellers, and she could feel the clack of her platform shoes as she crossed the open space to the counters. She spent a disarming smile to the security guard off to the side, which was pleasantly returned.

Cash withdrawal of $50,000, and a request to transfer the rest to a Swiss account based off the coast of Cuba. That was Doyle’s first requirement.

Emily’s heart stuttered as she thought of Reid, in pain and alone with a sadistic mastermind, the martyr for her sins. She couldn’t let him down.

She gave the teller, a young man with blonde hair and startling green eyes, a bright smile as she approached, setting her purse down. She exchanged a couple of personal pleasantries or padding, then made her request.

She knew it was unusual—bordering on dangerous—and she knew that if she wasn’t careful, they were liable to call the FBI for a sum of money and a change of banks this drastic. It often meant a ransom demand or something similar. She should know—she _was_ the FBI.

If they were called, the BAU would find out, and Reid was as good as dead.

“That’s…uh…that’s a lot of money,” the teller said, narrowed eyes scanning his computer screen as she fished out the appropriate documents, scanned to her by Doyle. “Um…I don’t…maybe I should get my manager.”

“Is there a problem?” She asked, taking extra care to sound confused. She was grateful to see the line extending behind her, the impatient foot-tapping of the other patrons even more annoying in the chasmic room. “My fiancé’s in finances, he told me this would be fine…well, see, we’re going on an extended vacation to Cuba for his work. He moves around a lot, because he’s just so good, you know? So we’re trying to get a good amount of cash to change currencies after we get through customs, and then we’re trying to move the rest of our funds to his offshore account, just in case; sorry, I know it’s all very last minute, but I can call him and he can explain the particulars to you. He’s at work right now, so it may take a few minutes, but he’s a lot better at this than I am; I took economics in college, but it never really stuck—”

Emily, while she was far from a woman of few words, very rarely rambled like this, and she had no idea how Reid kept it up. The breath support required alone was frustrating.

Luckily, the teller seemed to be getting as sick of her long-winded explanation as she was, because he started typing again. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary…it’s just an unusual request, that’s all. What denomination would you like the bills?”

She explained the particulars, steadfastly ignoring the annoyed glances of the patrons gathering behind her, and opened the small duffle she’d brought. She’d transfer it to the lunchbox in her car when she got there, to render it more inconspicuous, but for now, this would have to do. She was well aware of the curious eyes on her, but with the mood she was in, she all but dared anyone to try anything with her.

She could feel Lauren’s short temper and fierce attitude gaining traction, and while she knew it was necessary, it still scared her after so many years.

With the money finally taken care of, she called Doyle from the burner she’d procured after leaving the BAU. Her old cell phone had stayed in her desk—she knew, once the BAU realized she was missing, that would be the first thing they’d track, and then her car. She was impossibly glad that once she knew Doyle’s extensive reach, and how hellbent he was on her destruction, she planned to have another car on standby, just in case.

It was a rust-bucket that would make Rossi positively sob, but it was functional, and inconspicuous.

Her heart hammered, and her palms sweat, but she forced herself to take a deep breath and call the number Doyle had sent with his instructions. He was no longer using Reid’s.

For some reason, that fact sent an irrational burst of anxiety through her. It felt like another lost connection to her friend.

“Is it done?”

The voice was rough, familiar. She hated it. “Yes. $50,000 in cash, and the rest is being wired to your account in Cuba.”

He paused, then whistled. “That was quick. Impressive. Did you have to sleep with the teller?”

Emily’s eye twitched, but she forced herself to remain calm. She could hear the bitterness in his words and knew that it was a playground insult of nothing more than inadequacy and jealousy. “No. I was polite.”

He chuckled, and she glanced out the window, startled by the darkening clouds. Rain was rolling in—she hadn’t noticed.

“Can I talk to Reid?” She asked. She knew it was a longshot, but she had to try. She had no idea what kind of shape he was in after everything, and it had been almost twenty-four hours since he’d been taken, over twenty since he’d been shot. She didn’t know if the wound had been taken care of, _where_ he’d been shot, if he’d been injured before that…

The what-ifs were maddening.

“You know what? Sure. Reward for good behavior.”

Her heart leapt, and her lips parted in surprise. She didn’t think he’d say yes.

She listened to a shuffle, echoing footsteps, a grunt of discomfort. “H-hello…?”

Reid. _Reid_. The voice was scratchy and in agony and it was obviously painful to speak. It was tight with pain and anxiety and fear, and hesitant in fear. But it was Reid, and it was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.

“Reid,” she said, unable to keep the poignant relief out of her voice. “Reid, listen to me—you’re going to be fine. I’m going to make sure of it. Are you okay?”

She heard him swallow, and cough, grating, and her knuckles went white as she gripped the steering wheel. “I’m…I-I’m okay, E-Emily. Don’t—you _c-can’t_ —d-don’t do th-this. Not for me. _Please_.”

Emily—or Lauren, rather—knew Doyle, and she knew Reid would be hit for that before she heard the sound, but it still drove knives through her soul. She flinched at Reid’s pained grunt, the labored tone of his ragged breathing, the small sounds of pain he tried to keep silenced.

“That’s enough,” Doyle said, before the phone was back at his mouth. “I’ll send you the next round of instructions soon.”

“Don’t hurt him anymore,” she said despite herself, closing her eyes and praying with everything she was worth that everyone would make it out of this alive. “Ian, please. You can do anything you want to me when I get there, but stop hurting him.”

He paused, and Emily listened with bated breath, rapt attention raising the hairs on her arms. Her pride was smarting, the word _please_ and the undeniably wavering tone angering her, but her stoicism and her pride didn’t come before Reid. She could hear it in his voice—he was barely holding on, this amazing young man who had wormed his way through her defenses and into her heart. And still, he’d told her to leave him to die and save herself.

She couldn’t abandon him. Not after everything.

“You don’t want me to hurt him anymore?” He asked, his voice carefully toneless. “All the shit you put me through, and you’re asking me to spare the thing I have against you?”

She closed her eyes again. She was clutching the steering wheel so tightly that the tips of her fingers were becoming numb, pale white against the dark leather. “Yes. You’ve already hurt him, Ian. I’ll be there soon.”

Another pregnant silence. She waited.

Just as she had against Benjamin Cyrus in the Waco-esque fortress years ago, she’d protect him now, too.

“Fine. You’re going to regret those words, Lauren, but I won’t hurt him anymore.”

She made sure to keep the gasp of relief, and admittedly, surprise, out of her voice as she collapsed, her shoulders sinking. She put her forehead against the steering wheel, her lungs shuddering silently. “Thank you.”

He chuckled, dark and thin. “Oh, don’t thank me.”

He hung up.

Forty seconds later, more instructions. Directions to a private airport in Northwest Virginia, about an hour’s drive from here.

By the time Emily got to Reid, Doyle would be completely prepared to leave the country without a trace, on his way to Declan. She had no doubt her last round of instructions before they met again would be her procuring detailed information about Declan’s location, and she didn’t know just yet how she’d do that.

But she’d do it, and it would be completely fake. Real enough to convince him, but to her dying breath, she would protect both Reid and Declan as best she could.

No matter what it cost her.

…

Reid couldn’t scream. He’d only had the one bottle of water in however long he’d been here, and it hadn’t been nearly enough with the blood loss and the blunt force trauma from the steel knuckles. He was dehydrated and malnourished and exhausted, and getting weaker by the minute, so he couldn’t scream.

But by God, he wanted to, because he heard enough of Doyle’s conversation with Emily to know what she’d done. He couldn’t be angry, not at her. Not when she was doing whatever she could for him.

But he could be hopeless, and frustrated, and so, so angry at Doyle.

Still, he couldn’t scream, so all he could day was stay locked against his wooden prison and seethe in agony.

“Emily’s stubborn, I’ll give her that,” Doyle said as he snapped the phone shut. Reid listened to the sound of his ragged breathing echo in the stone room, watching with wary eyes as Doyle went fishing in his bag. “Not as stubborn as Lauren, but enough. I’m not allowed to hurt you anymore, and you’re _my_ prisoner. Imagine that.”

The gag was still hanging loose around his neck, but Reid didn’t speak. His throat was burning with thirst and raw from his screams earlier, and he didn’t want to make it worse.

“Still, I can’t just give you a pass,” he said, and Reid’s shoulders immediately tensed at the tone of his voice. It was both resigned and conniving all at once, and Reid knew as much as any profiler worth his salt that he was planning something.

Reid watched, wary and afraid, as Doyle approached. He dragged his chair with him, settling it in front of Reid, and sat backwards in it, facing him. There were a few inadequate inches between their knees, and Reid did not like the proximity at all, knowing how unpredictable Doyle could be. Reid, on instinct, tried to shift away, and had to bite his lip to keep from yelling in searing pain as his leg flared.

“Well, I guess you can hurt yourself, and I’m still staying within my limits,” Doyle said with a smirk. Reid watched as he fished something out of his pocket. “I’m a man of my word. I won’t hurt you anymore. In fact, I’ll make it better.”

Doyle held up the object in his hand. It caught the light, the tiny glass bottle glimmering with an unsuspecting shine as Doyle turned it over in his hands, inspecting it. His eyes slid to Reid. “You’re familiar with this, aren’t you, Dr. Reid?”

Reid couldn’t move.

He didn’t have to read the label to know exactly what this was.

“No,” he said, his voice small. “ _No_.”

“Funny,” Doyle said, fishing a syringe out of his pocket. “I didn’t ask.”

Reid flinched, his breathing accelerating rapidly as he watched the terrifyingly familiar process. Fill the needle. Check for air bubbles. Tourniquet. Bliss. Regret and rage and self-loathing and fear and despair.

The pain in his leg and ankles and wrists and chest and face was sharp, throbbing, insistent, but it didn’t matter. He writhed, trying desperately to snap the restraints, to _get away_ , but nothing would give. He was in utter searing, burning agony, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the syringe and the bottle and the _consequences_.

He didn’t know if he could do it again. Getting clean took everything he had and _more_ , and he couldn’t—he couldn’t—

“Please,” he said, and he hated himself for the small, broken word. He couldn’t look at Doyle. His eyes were glued on the bottle, the syringe. “Don’t. Please.”

“Why not? I’ve heard it’s actually quite pleasant,” Doyle said, the barest of sinister smiles on his lips as he rose. Reid tried to twist away, and then he was back in that dark shed as Tobias put his belt on his arm for the first time, only it was Doyle’s belt pulled far too tight, too tight and he didn’t _want it_ , he didn’t want it—

“I don’t—I don’t _want_ it, no, no, _no_ , please—”

“So much for staying tough,” Doyle said with shallow pity before Reid felt the familiar prick. He watched the depression of the plunger with wide eyes, completely helpless, and then he felt the rush.

“No,” he whispered even as a flush of warmth reached his chest and his aching head lolled. The burn of the gunshot wound abated slightly, and he felt himself relax. This was—quite nice. He wondered how he’d stopped doing this in the first place.

He felt himself slipping away even as he felt a hand on his shoulder, calloused and tight. It wasn’t at all comforting. “I don’t you I’d make it better.”

 _It helps_ , Tobias’ words echoed in his ears.

Reid felt his eyes flutter closed, and amidst the rush of bliss and peace and comfort, there was a vibrant streak of anger, another of pain, and another of self-hatred so deep and so poignant it almost kept him prisoner in the waking world.

But it wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t strong enough.

Reid slipped away into the familiar ether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh. Hi. Yeah. I did that. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> So…I told you it would be angst! Hope you liked it, and thanks for reading!
> 
> Please leave a review!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!!


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